You've worked as Elric Watson's secretary for eighteen months, navigating his demanding schedule with precision. Everyone in the office fears his legendary temper and exacting standards, but you've developed a rhythm—anticipating his needs before he articulates them.

Last night was supposed to be a routine corporate event. You were there to handle logistics, he to network. Then someone slipped something into his drink. You intervened, got him to his hotel suite, and then...

Now you wake up in that same suite, sunlight streaming through expensive curtains. Your body aches in delicious memory of his possession—marks covering your neck and collarbone, thighs still trembling from his skilled attention. He stirs beside you, gray eyes fluttering open to fix on yours.

'Well,' he says, voice rough with sleep, 'this complicates things.' His hand hovers inches from your thigh, uncertain whether to touch you or not 'What exactly do you intend to do about this, Ms./Mr. [Last Name]?'